


Footsteps in The Dark

by Silver_Moon_Lit_Forest



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Moon_Lit_Forest/pseuds/Silver_Moon_Lit_Forest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint had always had a hard time adjusting after a mission, but things are different now that he's living in the tower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footsteps in The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/15292.html?thread=32934844t32934844
> 
> I really hope this is what OP wanted! I tried desperately to keep the shipping out of it but it snuck its way in on me. I don't know if I'm capable of not shipping these two unless they are with other people already. I really enjoyed writing this and any mistakes are all mine.

Clint dropped his duffle bag on the floor as soon as the elevator dinged and he stepped out of it. He understood why Tony had set it up so they could only get to their floors of the tower through the communal level, better protection that way, but Clint currently despised the setup because it meant he had to do extra work to get to his room. He didn’t bother kicking off his shoes as he made his way through the living room and into the kitchen.

He ran a hand through his damp hair as he searched around the kitchen for the makings for a sandwich. He’d managed to catch a quick shower in the changing room after his debriefing on the Helicarrier; he’d been covered in blood, dirt and sweat and hadn’t wanted to eat anything in that state. Now that he was finally home, his stomach was rumbling with hunger.

It was fast approaching two in the morning and the tower was silent. Clint let himself enjoy the solitude. His mission had been so fast paced, he’d barely had a seconds quite to himself in the last three weeks. Generally, he hated silence. Silence let in things he’d really rather not remember, things that whispered in the back of his head from the past; filling the silence was an art he had perfected years ago, but right then, the silence of tower was a comfort.

Except it wasn’t completely silent. There was the barely audible beeps of the appliance and the hum of the air conditioner. It was just enough that it didn’t feel like some invisible force was pressing in on Clint’s eardrums. He busied himself with making three sandwiches. Clint hadn’t had anything close to an actual meal since the second week of his mission. Stalking people through the amazon left very little time for actual cooking. Not that sandwiches could be argued as cooking, but it was enough for Clint. He wanted simple and easy. So ham and cheese sandwiches it was.

He’d just finished spreading mayonnaise on the last sandwich when the sound of dragging footsteps came from behind him. In the quiet of the room, it was loud in his ears. Clint’s reaction was instant, very little thought having to go into what he did next. He spun on his heel, throwing his body into the movement as he shoved the unknown person up against the wall with a forearm across his chest and the knife at their throat. A mug fell to the floor and shatter in the same second that the person Clint had effectively pinned to the wall gasped.

“Clint!” His name echoed around them but Clint’s mind was wrapped up in his last mission. He shoved the man harder against the wall, the movement pressing the butter knife harder against his assailant’s throat. A growl slipped past his lips as fingers scrambled at his forearm, holding on instead of shoving him away like Clint expected. The thought gave him pause.

He loosened his hold and then slammed the man back against the wall when he tried to slip out of Clint’s grasp. The sound of a muttered curse reached his hazy mind.

“Fuck! Clint! It’s me. It’s Tony.” The words were stained but clear and Clint blinked. He paused, assessing the situation, realizing he knew that voice. He’d been living with the owner of that voice for almost eight months now.

“Tony?” Clint asked as he looked up to find that it was indeed the engineer he had pressed against the wall with a knife at his throat. There was still mayonnaise smeared across the blade. Tony stared wide eyed at him, body as still as he could manage against Clint’s frame. The arc reactor cast a bright glow across Tony’s face, painting the fear and surprise in his expression in stark relief in the darkness of the room. Tony wasn’t wearing a shirt Clint noted absently.

“What the fuck, Clint?! Are you trying to kill me?!” Tony’s voice was strained and Clint slowly relaxed his body by degrees. His mind was swirling with the sounds of battles and enemies attacking him. Everything felt hazy- disembodied. He was panting for breath and his heart was pounding against his ribs.

“Shit,” he muttered as he stumbled away from Tony and back against the counter. He gripped the edge with one hand and realised he was still holding the knife. He grimaced at the sight of it and tossed it across the room. It clattered across the counter and managed to land in the sink.

Clint sagged back against the island as he tried to get his breathing back under control. This was why he had tried to convince Natasha that it was a bad idea for him to live at the tower. It was a bad idea for him to live with anyone. Coming off missions was difficult for all the assassins he knew, but it was always particularly hard for Clint.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he rubbed at his face. He was embarrassed at himself for having such a reaction even though he knew there was no way he could help it. Clint listened to Tony shift away from the wall and wished he could just sink into the floor. Living here was a bad idea. Having a relationship with anyone outside of one night stands was a bad idea, even friends. Hell, he’d nearly killed both Natasha and Coulson before. He’d very nearly just killed one of the people he considered a friend in their own kitchen without any prompting.

“It’s okay,” Tony reassured him and the trusting tone in his voice made Clint look up at him even as he could feel his blush creeping down his neck and up his ears. One of the small floor vacuums whired at their feet, cleaning up the remains of Tony’s mug, as they looked across the small room at each other. Tony had a hand clutching at his chest, just over and to the left of the arc reactor, but that was the only telling sign that Clint had just scared the daylights out of him. A small red line stood out starkly against his neck where Clint had pressed the knife against his skin.

Clint winced at the sight of it and looked away. He knew clearly what he’d looked like in that moment. He’d seen video of himself during a fight. The fierce determination and will in his eyes had been burned into his brain. Coulson had once told Clint was capable of a complete personality turn around during a mission and Clint believed him wholeheartedly. The joking prankster everyone was used to wasn’t to been seen when he was one a mission or being threatened.

“It’s not easy adjusting after what you do for a living.” The sound of Tony’s voice startled Clint out of his own head and when he look up, Tony was smiling at him. It wasn’t sympathetic, but it wasn’t one of his usual fake ones. Clint was a master at faking emotion. Tony never had a chance at fooling him.

Tony reached out as if he was going to pat Clint on the shoulder-Tony was a tactile person, touch was one of the only ways he knew to reassure and comfort- but stopped before he did. Clint watched as emotions wared in his expression before he reached out and clasped Tony’s hand in his own. Tony looked surprised but didn’t pull away and Clint squeezed his hand in response.

“Want a beer?” Tony asked, nodding towards the fridge. The question was unexpected and brought a grin to Clint’s face.

“Yeah that would be good,” he answered and then remembered that he was actually in the middle of making food when his stomach reminded him. “Can I have another knife?”

Clint knew he sounded sheepish but he couldn't keep it out of his voice. He hated that he’d attacked Tony. He quite liked the other man, and he’d been toying with the thought that maybe they could be something more. Clint had been on the verge of tossing the idea away after what he’d just done, but the feeling of Tony’s hand in his gave him hope that maybe he hadn’t fucked it all up.

Tony raised and eyebrow and gave Clint a considering look before he dropped Clint’s hand and turned to pull another butter knife from the drawer behind him.

“You going to try to kill me again?” Tony asked as he held the utensil out to Clint, but there was a grin stretching his lips. Clint chuckled.

“Only if you’re not annoying,” Clint responded as he took the knife. He finished making his sandwiches and turned to find Tony holding open beers.

“How about a movie, Legolas?” Tony asked as he nodded towards the large T.V. in the living room. It was Clint’s turn to raise and eyebrow.

“You asking me out on an in tower date, Stark?”

“Maybe I am,” Tony replied without missing a beat and Clint swore he blushed to his toes. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. There was no reason for him to blush like that anymore but Clint couldn’t seem to keep heat from rising to his cheeks. He would just have to get Tony back in kind. Somehow.

“Yeah,” Clint answered after a moment, “I’d like that.” Tony grinned at him and this time it reached his eyes and Clint thought he looked like a kid on Christmas morning as Tony all but bounced his way to the couch. Clint laughed as he picked up his plate of sandwiches.

As he flopped down on the couch by Tony, who was now arguing with J.A.R.V.I.S about which movie they watched, Clint thought that maybe living in the tower hadn’t been such an idea. Maybe it could actually work out in the end.


End file.
